A Little Out of Touch
by Yukiko-neechan
Summary: yaoi. in which Yamato is living it up to hide his misery and there is Taichi-comfort. very typical Taito. Ch2 tbc.
1. one

A Little Out of Touch 1/?  
  
yukiko-neechan  
  
Disclaimer: Digimon not mine. Digimon Toei's. Taichi and Yamato not mine. Taichi and Yamato pimpstress Mimi's. Pervy gay idea not mine. Pervy gay idea pervy gay's. If you don't like pervy gay idea, please extricate yourself from this story, as it will damage your delicate sensibilities. All that said, enjoy.  
  
*  
  
The damned rain just wouldn't stop pouring down, entertaining the lightning pealing across the sky and the thunder rolling ever westward. The little city streets were slick with rainwater, reflecting the street lamps in that shimmering broken way. Even if stars-hell, the moon-had been out, no one would see them through the sheet of ever falling water. As a result, Taichi was forced to stumble home, sans umbrella, by the light of reflected street lamps and flashing neon signs.  
  
Work at the firm had run late, which was okay since no one was waiting up for him at home. There hadn't been for three years now.  
  
Ever since Sora left, with something about best friends don't make good lovers-"not us, anyway"-Tai hadn't done much outside of eat, sleep, work, and when feeling terribly adventurous, watch the telly.  
  
That television, though. An interesting pastime, that. Yamato's face was simply everywhere, every time with a new pretty thing on his arm-and not always a girl.  
  
Apparently, since high school, the blond musician had hit it big, and with fame came everything else. Yamato just immersed himself in it. Wallowed in it, with a kind of dangerous decadence that everyone watched in morbid fascination, waiting for him to fall. Not least of all Taichi. He didn't want Yamato to fall completely, of course. But one can only miss one's best friend enough, before just being angry.  
  
Yamato. Yamato with the perfect bleached blond hair. Yamato with the pale pink lipstick. Yamato with the shiny ready smiles. Yamato with the mascara- smeared face. Yamato with the smoldering eyes that were never blue anymore. Yamato with the come-hither expressions and the teasing winks. Yamato with the fake girls with the fake breasts. Yamato with the boy sluts who practically dry hump his leg in front of a camera.  
  
Yamato who never called anymore.  
  
When Taichi and Sora broke up, Tai was told by Yamato's manager that he was too busy to talk. When Kari and Takeru got married, Yamato sent a card with his regards. When his own father got into a car accident and was in the hospital for a month, Yamato had foregone the card altogether.  
  
He was too busy being a star.  
  
The media loved him. The masses adored him. Hell, the goddamn raindrops would probably stop in their tracks for him.  
  
Ah, but not for Tai. Soaking and with the cold beginning to seep into his bones, he noticed that the apartment was still nowhere in sight. With little choice, unless he wanted to catch his death, Tai ducked under the first awning that presented itself.  
  
Looking through the sliding glass door, the place seemed to be some sort of flower shop. Shelves covered the walls, cluttered with hundreds upon hundreds of different breeds. In the center, an island stood, continuing all the way to the back of the shop, displaying plants of a taller and leafier variety.  
  
Tai winced, being reminded of Sora and her mother's little flower shop.  
  
The lights were on, surprisingly, so Tai stepped inside to escape the autumn chill. The whole place smelled of roses. A kindly-seeming, wrinkled old man kept watch over the empty store. Obviously, no one wants to brave the elements to buy someone flowers anymore. And they say romance is dead, Tai mused sardonically as he started towards the back of the shop. When he got there, however, he discovered that the shop was not as empty as he thought it to be as he rounded a corner behind the large leaves and bumped into the back of a blond head.  
  
"Hey, watch who you're-" The complaint went no further, as the blond took in the man that had collided with him. A hissed breath.  
  
"Yamato."  
  
And it was. Except this Yamato standing before him was not the one he often saw on television. This one looked worse for wear, with lifeless flaxen hair and the circles under his eyes that the make-up didn't cover. He wasn't smiling or winking or laughing. Instead, the corners of his mouth were pulled down by invisible weights and his lips thinned in a pained line. Tai wondered if Yamato's fans could love him now.  
  
"Tai, what-" Again, Yamato cut himself off, not knowing what to say, obviously. Tai wondered how difficult it could possibly be to talk to one of the little people.  
  
"'s raining," Tai informed him shortly.  
  
Yamato nodded, shifting his gaze to his feet and shuffling them noisily. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, Tai noted. He probably didn't realize, but he used to do that all the time whenever he was nervous. After a moment's pause, he looked back up. "Where do you live? I could drive you." Inevitably, he trailed off again and looked back down.  
  
Annoyed, Tai blurted, "Naw, I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time." And that was the bone that he had to pick, wasn't it? That Yamato had found something better to do with his time than hang out with Taichi, when Tai still valued the friendship they'd shared as one of the best things in his life.  
  
Yamato got defensive. "Look, Taichi. I know I've been a little out of touch with-"  
  
This time Tai cut him off. "A little out of touch? A little out of goddamn touch?? You call living it up in Holly-fucking-wood while giving nay a word or whisper to your goddamn friends a goddamn little out of goddamn touch??" Having hollered loudly, Tai couldn't do more than cross his arms sulkily, waiting for Yamato's reaction.  
  
"Don't fucking yell at me," was all he got.  
  
"Goddammit, I don't know why I bother." With that, Tai stalked out of the store, into the rain, drenching himself once more.  
  
He'd gotten almost half the block down the street, when Yamato's voice came to him through the downpour. "I've got a car, you know."  
  
Taichi kept walking.  
  
"It's raining." Louder this time, more insistent.  
  
The idiocy of the statement struck Tai as funny. He turned around. "No, shit, Sherlock." Staring at Yamato standing there, getting rained on for no good reason with a shuttered expectant look on his face, Tai had to restrain a smile.  
  
Yamato almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he said, "Just get in the car, Yagami."  
  
So Tai did.  
  
For the longest time after Tai gave Yamato his address, the car was silent excepting the incessant pounding of the rain on the roof. Then the lightning started again in earnest. Unable to help it, Tai leaned forward onto the dashboard the way kids do, angling for a better view.  
  
Yamato laughed.  
  
But as Tai turned around, he found Yamato staring intently ahead again, chewing on his lower lip in thought. Nothing was said until Yamato pulled into the parking lot behind Tai's apartment building.  
  
Without looking at him, Tai asked Yamato, "So, uh, you have any place you have to be?"  
  
"No, not really."  
  
"Well, uh, since you gave me a ride and all, uh, do you want to come up?" Tai wanted to smack himself for every time he stuttered. It was only Yamato, after all. A Yamato who hadn't spoken to him in three years.  
  
"Yeah. Okay."  
  
Then, not really checking to see that Yamato was following, Tai climbed out of the car and up to his apartment. Footsteps on the landing behind him told him the other man had, indeed, followed. He opened the door to reveal his messy living room, strewn with socks in need of washing, half-empty boxes of Pocky, and the occasional beer bottle.  
  
Yamato spoke first. "You haven't changed at all." And, as if realizing what he'd said, his eyes desperately wandered around the room, looking anywhere but at Tai.  
  
Not knowing what to say to that, because Yamato had changed, Tai cleared his throat. As Yamato kicked the door shut behind him, Tai said, "You're dripping on my carpet."  
  
Obviously taking this as a hint to leave, Yamato grasped the doorknob and, ducking his head, turned to go.  
  
Taken aback, Tai shook his head at no one in particular. "No, idiot. Gimme your coat."  
  
"Oh." The coat was promptly handed over.  
  
"Look, Yamato. Stop standing in the doorway like an idiot and sit down. You'd think you'd never been to my apartment before."  
  
"Not this one."  
  
"Well, no. I mean, I got this one after moving out of Sor-" He stopped himself there, not sure how much he wanted Yamato to know. Or how much Yamato would care.  
  
"I'm sorry. I heard."  
  
"You *heard*?" -outraged-"Dammit, then why didn't you call back? Why didn't you *ever* call back? TK and Kari. Your father-!"  
  
Fire flashing in mostly dull eyes. "I *know*!" Then, quieter, "I know about my father, okay?"  
  
A moment of hesitation.  
  
"I was the one driving the other car."  
  
The admission left Tai speechless-a rare occurrence. He didn't know what to say anymore, the fight having been effectively knocked out of him. He wanted to ask how it had happened, and why Yamato hadn't taken the fall for it. He wanted to know when Yamato had fallen so far. He wanted to know why he was being told this now, like they were still best friends, still confidants. He wanted many things, but he said nothing.  
  
Eventually, the answer came on its own, a thin halting whisper. "I-I was drunk that day. I don't remember which party I was leaving, only-only that I got stinking drunk there. I was hating myself that day, so I drove fast. Didn't even know it was Dad until my lawyer called the next morning. I guess I hit and ran. But, god, the worst thing about it. the worst thing about it was that the lawyer hushed it all up. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what had happened. I wasn't allowed to apologize to my own father for almost ki-for almost killing him."  
  
Yama was shivering, and tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. He didn't seem to notice. And because he looked like he needed it, Tai wrapped his arms around the shivering boy, feeling the other's pain in the way he tensed and subsequently crumbled against his chest. He thought about the wetness soaking into his shirt where Yama pressed his face, and the rain continued to pound against the windows outside.  
  
* 


	2. two

A Little Out of Touch 2/?  
  
yukiko-neechan  
  
Disclaimer: Digimon and all its inhabitants are not mine. I only own this lovely font I'm typing in that won't even show up when I post this.   
  
*  
  
It was sometime after one o'clock. The fragmentally repeated beeping of the alarm clock from Tai's bedroom had told him that. An hour ago Yamato had taken comfort in his arms, and has quieted since. It was a just a silence now, and Tai wasn't sure what to feel. He highly suspected that he was selfish enough to want for Yamato to not be okay.  
  
But that was alright. Everyone has wanted to witness a falling star once in their lifetime. No one has caught it in their arms yet.  
  
As suddenly as he had crumpled, though, Yamato now pushed away from him, standing rigidly facing the other way. He had his head bowed, so that his fair hair was shielding his face, and his hands clenched themselves on either side of his body.  
  
"Yama?"  
  
No answer. Instead, Yamato stepped around Taichi tensely to the window across the room, looking out on Odaiba's skyline morosely. He seemed to look up, then down, left, then right, but never to find anything worth looking at-and it very well could be, worthless. He had been around the whole country, the whole world, and to come back to a place that has never been particularly shiny must have been disappointing to say the least. Tai mused that Yamato probably had just stopped here on the way to some huge gig in some huge town.  
  
"Yamato?" he tried again. Again, nothing, so he continued. There was nothing he hated more than dead silences. "Do you need a place to stay, Yama? I mean, I know you've pro'ly got some fancy hotel lined up, but, y'know-"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Oh." Tai didn't mean to sound as disappointed as he did. "Okay."  
  
"No, I mean." Yamato gave an unhappy huff of breath, keeping his back turned. "I've got a concert. My manager's only consented to a day. I've got to leave tomorrow night."  
  
"And tonight?" Shit, Tai had better shut up soon. He was starting to sound funny to himself.  
  
Yamato turned around. "Tonight, I'm going home." An indescribable look entered his eyes then, somehow determinedly resigned, and forgotten tear- tracks laid on his cheeks.  
  
Like an idiot, Taichi only said, "Wow."  
  
Yamato chuckled, though, despite the drying tears still on his face, leaving Tai feeling pleasantly surprised. "Yeah. Wow."  
  
For awhile, neither could think of anything more to say, and did that thing they used to do after fights all the time in high school where they scuffled their feet together, staring at the ground. Then, cautiously, Tai asked, "What are you gonna say to him? Your dad?"  
  
Yamato didn't get mad, though, so it was okay. "I don't know. I really don't. Maybe nothing."  
  
"Won't your lawyer be pissed, if you said something?"  
  
"Yeah, well, I finally figured he could just piss off. It's not him that's me, so he doesn't get a say." Which, strangely, made complete sense.  
  
"Really?" Tai couldn't stop asking questions. He didn't really know what he wanted to ask, but there were all these questions floating around, so he snatched whatever he could. He didn't want Yama to go.  
  
Yamato paused. "Yeah." Taichi didn't know Yama didn't want to go, either. He didn't know what he was saying yes to.  
  
All of a sudden, Tai said, "C'mere."  
  
Yamato stared, a bit wary, but he came over there anyway. Taichi ran his thumb under Yamato's eyes, getting rid of the last vestige of his tears. Yamato hadn't seemed to realize what he intended to do, but when he did, he tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed. Taichi's hand only followed after him, saying, "Nobody knows Mr. Cool Yamato Ishida cries yet except me. Keep it that way, na?"  
  
That made Yama smile. "Okay."  
  
Somehow, this did make it seem okay, so Taichi smiled, too. Letting go of Yamato's face, he said, "Drop by tomorrow? Before you leave, and let me know how it goes?"  
  
"Sure." Yamato made for the door, and soon, he was gone. The moment he was out the door, Taichi realized he had made a mistake. Yama would not be coming back if he could avoid it. He never did deal well with awkwardness, and the situation between them was nothing if not awkward now, after three years. With a belated sense of loss, he reflected that he could have put something into Yama's possession, maybe, that he would have to come back to return.  
  
Tai noticed he was still standing at the door, though, and turning rapidly, he plopped down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. He didn't understand why he cared so much. Yamato hadn't even intentionally sought him out. Yamato hadn't really cared enough to talk to him for three years. They had only happed upon each other by chance, and now Tai was all over trying to be best friends again? Why must he always be the one trying to kindle a friendship?  
  
Mulling over various questions of the same sort and not really finding a satisfactory answer, there was nothing to do but to plod on into the kitchen for a beer, really. Tai would get some sleep, and maybe figure things out tomorrow if Yama showed up.  
  
And tonight, he didn't turn on the TV, because he knew Yama would not be on it.  
  
*  
  
It was still raining out. Yamato didn't go straight to his old apartment. Instead, he parked his car on some side street in the neighborhood and just sat for a couple of hours. The green LED display on the dashboard kept him company. It was not until a hint of light crept over the horizon that he started his car again and drove the rest of the way to the apartment.  
  
He was fairly sure his father still lived there. There was no reason to move, after all, especially after an injury.  
  
The same parking lot, followed by the same dully painted stairs, and finally, the same door, a nondescript maroon color adorned by a small sign declaring that this was Apartment 209: Ishida. Some time during all this sameness, Yamato's stomach had started to constrict, making him feel somewhat ill.  
  
What would he say? What could he say? There wasn't any apology that would suffice and his father didn't even know he was responsible and if he did he would surely hate him and there would be no forgiveness and he was scared and scared and scared.  
  
But he knocked.  
  
And he waited. And knocked again.  
  
There was no answer. Perhaps his father was asleep. So Yamato dug in his pockets, for the keys he still had but hadn't wanted to use, and unlocked the door himself. The apartment was dark.  
  
"Otousan?" And louder, "Otousan?"  
  
Turning on the light, Yamato saw the remnants of a hasty take-out dinner on the dining room table, and knew his father must be pulling another late night at work. It seemed some sort of injustice, that he should go through such grief and his father not be home, so once his stomach stopped playing tricks, he leaned back against the door and cried for the second time that night. It was a stupid reason to cry, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do.  
  
A week before, while staying at a hotel during the tour, he had gotten a phone call from his lawyer. He was cheerily informed that the "fiasco with your father" was over, that the media had died down without anyone pressing charges. Yamato immediately proceeded to drink himself into a stupor, except he could drink enough to get rid of that lingering sense of self- hatred. So, he came back to the hotel and took a bottle too many sedatives.  
  
Looking back on it, he didn't think he was trying to kill himself really. The next day, though, at the hospital, after all the stomach pumping and doctors in white labcoats, his manger told him to take a break, for as long as he needed. Apparently, when the cleaning staff found him that morning, he was close to dead, with the pills and alcohol in his system.  
  
That was when he supposed he should come back.  
  
Before he left, his manager said to him in a quiet voice, "Go talk to your father, Yamato. Come back when you feel okay. I'll take care of the lawyer." Yamato was grateful, and his manager didn't seem so impartial anymore.  
  
Being back seemed pointless now. His father wasn't home.  
  
The sun was almost up. The room was the same as always, minus the notes his father used to leave for him when he would be at work. Yamato didn't think he'd have the courage to speak to his father now. He didn't leave a phone number before he left.  
  
*  
  
It had been the thought of courage that brought Yamato back to Taichi's house.  
  
He didn't want to go back to his career yet, hating himself more than before. He wanted to do something right for a change. He was afraid that he'd eventually end up killing himself if he didn't tell his father anything.  
  
So, he'd gone back to Taichi's place to look for courage.  
  
* 


End file.
